( via / via )

Great Gig in the Sky.

"essential tremor"

Noir in rooms that only wireless fills;
sugary yonder, though there too dwells the nightmare.
A minute passes, making landscapes blur
while tomorrow filches razors for its veils.

Our things become ephemeral, no plans
possible. I shuffle next to shelves
clenched against that other blatant cranch
as somewhere far, the world’s last glacier melts.

I Go Around Drinking Raki.

“a cicada chirrs
one crow
no messages yet”

–@poem_exe

The end of the 3-decker novel.